The Truth
by tragicbeauty1991
Summary: When Peter finds himself back at the East End, reality seems to blur with his imagination. Was Neverland all a dream, or was there some kernal of truth in what happened?  Based on SyFy's Neverland.  Hook & Peter FRIENDSHIP


**Disclaimer: I do not own _Peter Pan_ or SyFy's _Neverland_.**

**The Truth**

"Peter?"

The room seemed to sway, as if the floor was moving...as if he was on a ship. He felt dizzy, nauseatingly disoriented as to what was up and what was down. He couldn't remember where he was or how he had gotten there.

"Peter, are you alright? Answer me!"

_I know that voice. _Peter opened his eyes, squinting up to see who had addressed him. "Jimmy?"

"Oh, thank God." He felt a strong pair of arms wrap around his shoulders. "I thought I'd lost you, Peter."

And then it all came rushing back. The orb. Neverland. The pirates. He shoved the man away, struggling to escape. "Let go of me!" He squirmed. "Get away from me, you filthy pirate!"

Surprisingly, he felt the arms go slack.

Jimmy put his hands on the boy's shoulders, holding him at arm's length and looking genuinely confused. "Peter, what _are_ talking about?"

Peter's eyes widened. "Your hands," he whispered. "You have two of them."

Jimmy looked at him oddly, obviously not following the boy's line of thought. _He must have hit his head harder than I thought. _"Yes, Peter…Most people do…"

Peter shook his head, despite its throbbing. "But…but I don't understand. What about the orb? The duel?" He realized now that he was not on a ship but back in his cot at the East End. "How did we get back here?"

"Back from where, Peter?"

"From Neverland." Peter was becoming frustrated. Surely Jimmy remembered _something_ about their adventure. _Perhaps the tree spirits have erased his memories. _"What happened to Bonny and her crew? I thought you were staying with them."

Hook frowned. "Who is Bonny?"

Peter was about to say something when suddenly, he paled. For there, standing behind Jimmy, was Fox.

His supposedly deceased friend smiled. "Wha's wrong, Peter? Yeh as though ye've seen a ghost!"

Peter scooted back against the headboard. Having a missing hand reappear was one thing…Coming back from the grave was an entirely different matter. _The tree spirits couldn't have healed him…I watched him fall from the ship. I saw him sink. _"You…you can't be here. You're dead."

"Me?" Fox laughed. "Ah'm no' the one who fell off the roof!"

The pieces of the puzzle were slowly beginning to come together in his mind. "What?"

Fox looked sympathetic. "Yeh don' remember any of it, do you?"

Peter looked from Jimmy to Fox, then back again. "Remember what?"

Jimmy sighed. "You were up on the rooftop this evening with Fox—discussing plans to break into Harbottles _without_ my permission, if I am not mistaken."

Peter grimaced and looked down. "Sorry, Jimmy."

The fencing teacher smiled and ruffled the boy's hair before continuing. "Apparently, some of the shingling was loose, and you slipped on your way back down. The boys found you lying on the sidewalk and came to tell me as quickly as possible." He closed his eyes. "I thought I was too late." He sighed again. "You're very lucky to still be alive."

Fox grinned. "Too bad yeh couldn't fly, eh? Then goin' from roof tah roof wouldn't be a problem at all."

Peter sat up straight. _Fly! Of course! _"But I _can_ fly! Jimmy, don't you remember the mineral dust? The tree spirits?"

"Tree spirits?" Fox echoed. "Peter, I think the fall must o' scrambled yer brains a bit."

Peter started to get up. "Neverland _was_ real, and I'll prove it!"

A hand against his chest pushed him back down. Jimmy was firm but gentle. "Peter, I think you'd better lie down." He turned to look over his shoulder. "Fox, why don't you go tell the boys that Peter is awake? I think they'd all probably like to know that he's up, but I don't think he's quite ready for company yet."

Fox nodded and headed back up the stairs. Peter waited until he heard the door shut before turning back to Jimmy. He hesitated. While it was wonderful to have the old Jimmy back, he still wasn't sure how much, if any, of his strange dream was true. _It all felt so real…_

"Where are the boys?"

"Down at Harbottles, finishing up. I had already found what I was looking for by the time they arrived to tell me what had happened to you. It seemed a shame to waste such a good opportunity, so I told them to fill up their bags while they were there."

Peter stiffened. "What were you looking for?"

Jimmy smiled. "You know, there was a reason _why_ I didn't want you, in particular, going to Harbottles." He walked over to the other side of the room and pulled something out from beneath one of the beds. It was long and slender, wrapped in several layers of cloth. He handed it to Peter. "Open it."

Peter studied the package in his lap, trying to guess what might be hidden within the rags. _How do I know this isn't a trick? _Slowly, carefully, he began to peel back the layers until his eyes met with the most beautiful sword he had ever seen. It was old—an antique, to be sure—but the gold-plated handle and steel blade still shone like the sun. It was richly decorated, inlaid with jewels and engraved with patterns so that it was quite obviously intended to be used for decorative rather than defensive purposes. Still, it was a beautiful weapon. The handle was a dragon's head with two glittering red rubies for eyes. On one side of the blade were the Latin words _Draco Vivit_, on the other, an English translation—"The Dragon Lives." He ran his fingers carefully over the blade, then looked up at Jimmy.

"It's magnificent," he breathed.

Hook clamped a hand on the boy's shoulder. "It's yours. Though I _had_ hoped to wait until your birthday to give it to you." He used the term "birthday" loosely, for in truth, none of the boys knew their exact age, so they celebrated on the anniversary of whenever Jimmy happened to have found them. "That blade," he said, pointing to the sword in Peter's lap, "once belonged to Sir Francis Drake."

Peter frowned. "A pirate?"

"Privateer," Jimmy corrected. "He was a pirate only to the Spanish, who knew him as _El Draque_ or 'The Dragon.' The sword was presented to him by the queen after he was knighted for defeating the Spanish Armada." [1]

"Why are you giving this to me?"

"Because I believe you are ready for a promotion." He smiled. "You have come a long way since the day that I found you. You're smarter than the other boys, faster. Your fencing strategy is excellent—so good, in fact, that I believe I may begin asking you to help me as a fellow instructor. And today, when you rallied the boys, I knew I'd never have to question your loyalty. So, now I suppose the only question is do you accept the offer?"

Peter frowned. This was what he'd always wanted, what he'd dreamed about for years. Yet now, when the position was finally offered to him, he found that he wasn't so certain anymore. Was he dealing with James Hook or with Jimmy? He took a deep breath, afraid to hear the answer of what he was about to ask.

"Jimmy, did you know my parents?" When there was no response, Peter continued, the silence seeming to confirm his worst fears. "Please, I have to know."

The fencing master licked his lips hesitantly, closing his eyes. "Yes," he whispered hoarsely, almost painfully. "Yes, I knew them very well."

"How…how did they die?"

Hook sighed deeply, not daring to meet his pupil's gaze, choosing instead to face the window so that he wouldn't have to see the pain in the boy's eyes—those eyes that looked so much like _hers_ it sometimes hurt to look at him. He pulled the pocket watch from his waistcoat and flipped it open, caressing the picture gently with his thumb.

"Your mother was the most beautiful woman I ever met. I first saw her down at the Granville Club. She was performing in the role of Juliet and looked every bit the part. I spoke with her briefly after the performance, offered to buy her a drink…After that, we started visiting one another more frequently. I used to take her out dancing to all the grandest places, and she absolutely loved it—fine wine, beautiful dresses, visiting foreign dignitaries." He smiled wistfully. "Then one day I asked her to marry me…and she said yes."

Peter frowned. This was certainly a twist in the story. "What happened?"

"Shortly after we were engaged, my father passed away. He had a gambling problem, and when he died, all of his debt fell to me. He owed so much I had to sell nearly everything I owned to pay it back, and even then I was coming up short. Jenny would have stayed on, but when her parents discovered my predicament and found out that she was still intent on marrying me, they were furious. They threatened to disinherit her if she married me and forced her to break off the engagement. While I was away trying to pay back my father's debt, they arranged for her to marry another man…"

"My father?"

Jimmy nodded solemnly. "Shortly after their marriage, she was found with child. Everyone assumed that it was his child, but with the timing…It could have been mine."

Peter had grown deathly silent.

Jimmy hung his head. "I ran into him one night as I was leaving the tavern. I'd had a bad day and a bit too much to drink…" He licked his lips again and shook his head. "I was angry. Oh, I was so angry. Angry with him. Angry with her parents. Angry with the world…" He closed his eyes. "I made a mistake, Peter. A mistake that would cost me dearly."

He glanced briefly at the boy to see how he was taking the news.

Peter was staring at his lap, blinking viciously at the stubborn tears that refused to stay in his eyes. He was gripping the hilt of the sword so tightly that his knuckles were white. Though intended for decoration, it was still sharp enough to run a man through. And Jimmy wouldn't blame him if he tried.

He went back to facing the window. "After his death, Jenny had nowhere to go. Once her parents realized that the child she was carrying might not be his, they refused to take her back, and she could not perform in her condition. She ended up in one of the workhouses, working harder and longer than any woman should ever have to. One day she couldn't take it anymore and she…" He drew a shaky breath.

Peter could not see his face, but he guessed that if he could have, Jimmy's eyes would have been no drier than his own. And he would have guessed right. If Peter had any doubts about the truth of his mentor's repentant attitude, they were gone. Jimmy might have been a good actor, but Peter had _never_ seen him cry.

Hook waited until his voice was steady enough not to give him away before continuing. "You are all I have left of her, Peter. Sometimes…sometimes I look at you, and I swear I can see her ghost. It was rather selfish of me, I suppose, to hope that you were mine. But I loved your mother so much… When you were younger, I used to hope that someday I'd see my reflection as well as hers in you, but now that you have grown, it seems that every day you look more and more like him and it gets harder and harder for me to realize the truth." He turned to face the boy and came to kneel at the foot of his bed, resting an arm on the footboard. "Nevertheless, Peter, I have always thought of you as my son. I still do."

Peter's grip on the sword had lessened, but his eyes remained downcast.

Jimmy continued. "And if you can find it within your heart to forgive me, I would like very much to call you my business partner, if not my son." He put a hand on the boy's shoulder. "You don't have to decide right now. I know it's been a hard day." He removed the pocket watch from his waistcoat and placed it in Peter's hand. "Why don't you hold onto this for me until then, mmh?"

He ruffled the boy's hair before turning to go back upstairs. He could hear the boys getting back from their latest treasure hunt. The excitement in their voices brought a small twitch of a smile to his face. The life of a thief was not an easy one. They never had much, but they were a family of sorts. A rather odd and unconventional family, mind you, but a family, just the same. They were the misfits, the outcasts, the pariahs of society—the ones that no one wanted, the ones that no one loved. Jimmy knew all too well what that felt like, but he had also had a taste of something these boys might never know. He knew what it was like to be at the top, and he knew how hard it was to climb back up. It was a slippery slope, no doubt. He'd been fighting the system for years now, and still it had gotten him nowhere. Of course, he might have been a bit richer if he hadn't spent so much on the boys, but they deserved every bit of it and so much more. Someday, he vowed, things would be different. Someday, he would find a way to offer them a better life. For the life of a thief, while grand and adventurous for young boys, was no way for a grown man to make a living.

"Hey, Jimmy?"

He stopped mid-way up the stairs and turned to face the boy.

Peter looked up from the pocket watch, hesitant to meet his gaze. "Thanks…For telling me the truth…"

Jimmy sighed. "I regret what I did that night, Peter. Truly, I do. But I do not regret one day of having raised you as my own." He turned and continued ascending the steps.

"Jimmy?"

At this rate he wouldn't reach the top until midnight. He glanced back over his shoulder. "Yes, Peter?"

"Do you ever think that in another life you might have been a pirate?"

Hook rolled his eyes. "I _think_ that you have your mother's imagination and quite possibly a concussion, so unless you want to feel even worse tomorrow, you should really get some rest."

Peter smiled. "Goodnight, Jimmy."

"Goodnight, Peter."

As he finally made his way to the top of the stairs, he took one last look at the boy and shook his head, smiling. _Pirates, indeed! I wonder what on earth he dreamed about…_

[1] Sir Francis Drake was an English privateer (or pirate, depending on your point of view) who lived during the 1500s. He was commissioned by the crown to raid Spanish ships, and he helped defeat the Spanish Armada. His Spanish name, _El Draque_, was actually a mispronunciation of "Drake," but his Latin name was _Franciscus Draco,_ "Francis the Dragon."He was eventually knighted for his heroic war efforts, and the queen (on a separate occasion) presented him with a jewel with her portrait. The sword featured in this short story is entirely fictional and has no historical basis.


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